


A College Course in Johnlock

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: College AU, Johnlock - Freeform, Kick ass Molly, M/M, Molly saves the day!, anxiety disorder Sherlock, ballet!sherlock, mormor, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I might not post tomorrow because I have a concert and I'll be pretty hyped up. But I'll try to get a new chapter to you soon...if you guys still want chapters...if you don't, I'll stop and...delete it....</p></blockquote>





	1. Sebastian the womanizer

Sherlock carried his bags to the elevator. His shoulders sagged and his gaze remained on the floor. He slammed the button for the for the third floor and stood in the corner of the overcrowded elevator. 

The man next to Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. He had portly fingers and barely fit into the suit he’d pulled from the back of his closet. It fit him like a sausage casing and frankly, most everything would seem to fit him that way. Conclusion? This man was recently hired to replace a professor before the students got back.

Sherlock, himself, didn’t know he was going here until Mycroft told him a week ago. Sherlock had known something like this would happen, but he assumed Mycroft would send him somewhere better. Not this hell hole. He could tell just by looking through lobby that 68% of the students would party every single night.

The elevator creaked to a halt and the doors slid open, revealing the second floor, and more students. Thankfully, several girls in crop tops and denims and the sausage man were getting off. He tried to refrain from covering his ears when the shrieking about college began. Three boys entered as the girls left. Two were almost twice the size of Sherlock and they were rambling about some sport, probably rugby. The smaller one in front of them was the one who really fascinated him. He was shorter than the other two, but he seemed to be in charge. He had sandy blond hair and green-blue eyes around the iris, but gold and brown flecks around the pupil. He was muscled from playing a sport, most likely rugby, but he barely had a tan.

The smaller boy pushed the button for the third floor and moved back so the taller boys could stand by the door. His gaze ran over Sherlock once before he smiled warmly.

“What floor, Mate?”

Sherlock’s brain ran around in circles trying to process the simple question. _What floor? What floor?_ _ **What floor?!”**_  
He felt his pulse quicken and his muscles contract as he realized how many seconds were passing by. _10, 20, 30!_

_It had to be minutes by now, hours._

_**Why weren’t the doors opening?!** _

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, anything. Anything to keep this handsome stranger from hating him. To keep him from making the whole campus hate him. He tried to speak, to tell him it was the third floor, but his throat felt like sandpaper and his lungs felt like they were just paper sacks. 

The boy watched Sherlock, taking in every flicker of his eyes. He stepped back as if he could sense Sherlock’s unease. 

“Sorry, Mate. Didn’t mean-”

“Fifth.” 

Sherlock’s voice was strained and sounded as if the simple words had to be dragged from his toes. His hands started to tremble and he adjusted his ballet bag on his shoulder, fidgeting with the strap. It reminded him of debates with his brother, Mycroft. No matter how much research Sherlock did, Mycroft always found a way he was wrong. It was cruel and relentless, but it taught Sherlock how to argue and how to look at nothing and find a conclusion.

The boy looked over at the control panel and frowned. Sherlock followed his gaze and mentally cursed himself. There is no fifth floor. The third floor is the top floor. 

“Sorry, Mate. I believe you have the wrong building. There is no fifth floor in this building. Show me your papers, I can help-”

_**“I don’t need your help! I know exactly where I’m going!”** _

Sherlock’s face was bright red and his hands were trembling. If the boy saw his papers then he’d know Sherlock lied to him and then he’d peg Sherlock as a liar for the rest of college and nobody would want to be friends with him because he lied. 

 

The boy raised his hands as if to show he was holding nothing and wouldn’t attack Sherlock. Sherlock knew it was a lie. He didn’t need weapons to attack. He just needed a 3 to 1 ratio. 

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the third floor. The boy calmly grabbed his bags and walked out with the other two who were laughing their asses off by now.  
Sherlock felt the tears streaming down his face before he realised he was crying. He dried his tears with his sleeve and wiped his nose so at least he wouldn’t look disgusting for his dorm mate. 

He waited a minute before leaving so the other boys wouldn’t see him. 

His first day and he’d already made enemies.

Maybe Mycroft was right. Maybe boys like them couldn't make friends.

Sherlock followed the map in his hands to his dorm. He knocked on the closed door and waitted. First day and the bloke that he was dorming with was already making messes. There was a sock on the door knob! How does someone get a sock on the doorknob! 

Sherlock took the sock and walked into the dorm only to find his dorm mate moaning and gasping as a girl sucked his cock. 

Sherlock dropped his bags and quickly looked at the wall. His cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink. He started to say something about sexual diseases, but he was cut off by an animalistic growl as the bloke came into her mouth.

He opened his brilliant green eyes and looked at Sherlock. He was stark naked and he still had the audacity to smirk and wink! He held his shaking hand out. 

“Sebastian Moran. Come on in. She was just leaving.”

The girl looked about as pink as Sherlock and stood. She grabbed her bag.

“I was-”

“Yes. Yes, you were.”

Sebastian pulled her towards the door and kissed her. She blushed and pulled away. 

“Call me?”

“Of course.”

And with a killer smile he shoved her out of the door, carefully closing it so she couldn’t speak to him. 

Sherlock watched as Sebastian pulled on boxers and black jeans. 

“Are you going to call her?”

Sebastian snorted and almost fell over while pulling on his jeans.

“Are you kidding, I don’t even know her name.”


	2. Making Friends

_Sherlock sat in the middle of his family’s garden. His tears had long ago crusted around his eyes and dried on his cheeks. He stared at the flowers, watching as the bees pollinated them. He found himself wishing he could be a bee._

_Mycroft, seven years older and wiser, walked out of the house. He came and sat by Sherlock. Neither brother looked at the other or said a word. To Mycroft the silence was almost comforting, but he knew Sherlock needed words. They sat like that for minutes, hours. Eventually Mycroft found he was holding Sherlock’s hand and the tears had silently begun to coat his younger brother’s cheeks._

_Mycroft carefully snaked his arms around his younger brother, pulling him close into his embrace. Sherlock let out a choked sob and buried his face in his brother’s shoulder._

_“It had to be done, little Brother.”_

_Mycroft found the words escaping his lips before he realized he was comforting him. It was never something he’d been good at, but maybe this time. This time when his brother needed a friend. When he crying and calling him “Mykey”, a name he hadn’t used for Mycroft since he was a toddler. Maybe Sherlock would need him this time._

_The words were soft and murmured in Sherlock’s ear. Only for them to hear. A secret exchange of sorrows, only for them. His words dug into Sherlock and made him feel more. He found himself wishing for relief, for a way away from this pain._

_“Nobody blames you.”_

_But they did. And they both knew it. When Sherlock- If Sherlock went back inside, he would find everybody’s gaze on him, judging, critiquing. Mycroft had heard the words they’d said about Sherlock. He’d felt them like daggers, but he’d stared at the floor and held his tongue._

_Apparently Sherlock hadn’t heard the words, that, or he chose to ignore them, because he pulled his face away from his brother’s shoulder and put on a brave face._

_“Are you sure, Mykey?”_

_His voice seemed so small compared to the world around him. Mycroft just nodded, drying Sherlock’s tears and nose with his sleeve._

_“Always, Sherlock.”_

Sherlock found himself thinking back to his only friends in the world. He only had three and he’d already lost two. 

Redbeard, Mycroft, and Skully. 

He’d lost Redbeard when he was in primary school. He’d thought he had made an immunity serum, and of course his first patient was his 15 year-old dog who could barely find the energy to run anymore. He’d gone to school after injecting it into Redbeard, and when he came back he found his dog spasming and surrounded in his own vomit. 

They’d immediately taken him to the vet, but Sherlock already knew what had to happen. Mycroft had been the one to tell him that they had to put Redbeard down. He’d found Sherlock crying and already knew he knew. 

Sherlock had never felt grief like he had that day. The death of his best friend was on his hands and could never be washed away. 

It had been slower with Mycroft. Originally he’d promised to write to Sherlock when he went off and joined the government. And he did.Then the letters began coming further, and further apart. Until he would get one a month, twice a year, on his Birthday, never.

He tried to tell himself that Mycroft was just busy and he’d spend all his time catching up with SHerlock the next time he came home. But when Mycroft finally did come home, he’d doubled in size and only cared about talking with the adults.  
He looked serious all the time and often stayed in the library for hours on end. 

It was then that Sherlock realized he really was alone. 

Before Mycroft left he gave Sherlock a box, carefully wrapped in paper covered with buzzing bees. Sherlock had taken the package and gone to his room, not saying a word to his brother. It felt like his brother had betrayed him. 

Sherlock didn’t touch the package for days, until the curiosity overtook him. He’d carefully unwrapped the bee paper, because he wanted to keep that, and took the object out of the box. 

It was a skull. A real human skull. 

Sherlock had ran around all day, showing it to anybody that would listen.

He remembered that as he sat on a bench and waited till time to leave for class. He was watching bees pollinate flowers. He found himself wanting someone to tell this to. To tell someone of his horrible first day, and his dorm mate Sebastian. 

Sherlock reached into his bag and pulled out the skull. He took Skully everywhere with him. Sherlock held Skully and began telling him about his day. He closed his eyes and focused on the grooves of the skull. He was so focused that he didn’t hear the boy sit down next to him.

“Is that real?”

Sherlock almost jumped out of his skin and opened his eyes to find that the boy from the elevator was staring at him and giggling as if he was the funniest thing on Earth. Sherlock felt his nerves go on edge and his muscles constrict as his brain processed that he was laughing at him. 

Sherlock shoved the skull into his bag and scooted closer to the edge of the bench. The warm breeze blew his ginger curls into his face and covered his eyes, allowing him to take a moment for a few deep breaths. 

“Of course it’s real. What would be the point of a fake one?”

The boy giggled some more and held his books close. Sherlock looked over at the boy. He was smiling and laughing, but he didn’t seem angry like Sherlock would have expected.  
The boy was wearing jeans and a jumper that two of him could have fit into, although it still fit him well. Sherlock suddenly felt self-conscious in his leggings, bee shirt, and cardigan. Though Sherlock stood at the boy’s height he was as thin as a stick. 

The boy smiled warmly at Sherlock and held out his hand as a peace offering. 

“John Watson.”

Sherlock flinched when John shoved a hand at him until he realized he wanted Sherlock to shake it. He carefully took John’s hand, finding his grip unforgiving and his hands calloused from work. Sherlock’s own hands must have felt delicate in comparison. 

“Sherlock Holmes.”

John smiled at Sherlock and pulled his hand away. Sherlock met his gaze and found his warm smile a comfort to his own racing heart. He carefully smiled back, unsure of what John wanted from him. 

“You seem young to be at college, Sherlock.”

Sherlock quickly glanced down at his notebook and realized John wanted a conversation. 

“My brother sent me to college a year early.”

Sherlock mumbled the words, although, he’d be surprised if John heard him. John shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable. So, he planned to stay for a bit. John went on with the conversation, allowing Sherlock to get more comfortable with him without Sherlock having to speak. As Sherlock became more comfortable, they started to share schedules and talk about their future. 

John wanted to become a pediatrician and help children with hearing issues. Sherlock wanted to go into crime work, but his brother wanted him to become a banker. 

The boys talked until they realized they were late for their first class. They both promised to meet again at some point. 

Sherlock walked to class smiling. 

Maybe college wouldn’t be so bad after all.

\---

John sat in his seat while the professor droned on and on about Horace Wells and the discovery of nitrous oxide, but John could barely focus because he found his mind drifting back to the boy.

Sherlock Holmes. 

He was different, that much was obvious. John was originally going to avoid him so they wouldn’t have another elevator incident, but...he just looked so lonely that John couldn’t help himself. 

As the lecture drew to an end, John gathered his stuff and walked out, heading towards the rugby field for practice. 

As John was heading towards practice he heard the most beautiful violin playing. It was sad and seeped down to John’s bones, making him shiver in the warmth of the sun. When it stopped, it left John feeling hauntingly empty.

He’d have to hear it again.


	3. The party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not post tomorrow because I have a concert and I'll be pretty hyped up. But I'll try to get a new chapter to you soon...if you guys still want chapters...if you don't, I'll stop and...delete it....

Sherlock sat on the stairs leading up to the third floor. His hair was wet from recently being washed wand stuck to his forehead as he hunched over the small laptop he had in his lap. His toes were bare and he wiggled them as he read about the lifecycle of bees. John walked into the dorm building, his body sweaty from practice and his fresh shirt stuck to his chest. He carried two grocery bags full of crisps and dips. 

 

Sherlock heard the approaching footsteps and shifted to the other side of the cold stairwell, not looking up from his screen. 

“Sherlock?”

John stared at the smaller boy in front of him. His hair was soaked and his bee pajamas made him seem smaller than he actually was. Sherlock looked up at John and reddened. He quickly shut his laptop and straightened up.

“John-John, Hey. Hey, John.”

Sherlock smiled shyly and took one of the bags John was holding. He looked at the crisps and dips, popular party foods. So John was throwing a party.

“What are you doing on the steps?”

John led Sherlock up to his dorm and into the warm room. He set the bag of crisps down on the floor and kicked off his shoes. Sherlock followed him and held the bag in the doorway, unsure of where to go. 

“Sebastian said had a girlfriend coming over and he kicked me out.”

John frowned and watched Sherlock’s unease grow. He walked over and took the bag from Sherlock, setting it on the floor by the couch.

“Sebastian Moran?”

Sherlock nodded and watched as John padded around the cozy room. The floor had fresh carpet and John looked as if he could sink down in it.  
John’s dorm was different from any Sherlock had seen. Instead of a small room with two beds on opposite walls, there were three rooms. A sitting room with a small kitchen and two bedrooms. 

Sherlock found himself wondering what John’s bedroom was like. Would it be cozy like John? Full of his ridiculous cable knit sweaters. 

“Sherlock, are you listening?”

Sherlock turned his head and looked back at John. He was unpacking the groceries and watching Sherlock. Sherlock’s cheeks blushed a crimson red when he realized that while he was thinking about John’s bedroom, John had carried on the conversation.

“Sorry, what? I must have tuned out.”

John looked at the bags and pulled out a six pack of beers.

“You can stay with me tonight. My dorm mate hasn’t shown up yet and I have a spare room.”

John walked into the living room and picked up his shoes, carrying them to his bedroom so they wouldn’t be in the way. 

“I’m hosting a party tonight, though.”

Sherlock froze. He’s actually throwing a party. An actual party.

“A party?”

“Yes.”

“A party?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Sherlock fought himself. He wanted to tell John how irresponsible it was and that he could get in trouble for throwing a party, but something stopped him. Maybe he didn’t want to upset John, maybe he wanted to experience his first college party with John. 

“Nothing.”

\---

Sherlock walked out of John’s bedroom wearing a fluffy jumper and jeans that were too wide at the hips and short on the legs, but he didn’t mind. John had insisted that Sherlock not wear his bee pajamas to his party and he’s let Sherlock borrow his clothes. 

John’s bedroom was different than Sherlock expected. There was a picture of a man in a military uniform, and after some persuasion, John had finally told him it was his father. In the picture, John’s father was holding the hands of two children. The first was obviously John, but the second one looked just like John. So, John had a twin?

Sherlock now sat on the floor of the living room, thinking about the picture. John walked into the living room from the shower. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was dripping wet.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and his heart rate picked up, but this time it wasn’t from his anxiety. His eyes took in every detail, every dip and curve, every hair on John’s body. There was a fine trail of blond hair running down from John’s belly button to below the towel. Sherlock licked his lips and looked down. 

John, seemingly oblivious to everything, turned on the television and walked into the bedroom. 

Sherlock quickly looked down, trying to stop his body from showing how aroused he was. He closed his eyes and focused on an article he read a while back. He’d read it after his school counselor had given him “The talk”. He remembered the trick he’d learnt. Think about something disgusting and completely unarousing. 

Mycroft. 

Sherlock pictured Mycroft sitting at the family dinner table, a bowl of roast, potatoes, and carrots, drinking- No. -Slurping up all the fatty bits of meat. The juice dripping down his fat chin and splashing on his shirt.

Sherlock cringed with the image.

Sherlock opened his eyes again when he was sure John had gone to his room. He heard a knock on the door and the voices of several people. Sherlock felt his heart speed-up. He hadn’t exactly thought about being surrounded by John’s friends. He knew what they would say. He knew they would tease him. He suddenly felt nauseous and like he couldn’t breathe. 

He slowly walked to the door and opened it, letting the group of boys in. They walked past him into the room and plopped onto the couch. John walked into the room and handed them all beers. 

Sherlock watched John and took a beer with a shaking hand. John smiled softly at him and leaned in, whispering into his ear. 

“It will calm your nerves.”


	4. Just hold on with me. We're gonna get somewhere. I promise.

Sherlock woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and sudden realization that he wasn’t in his pajamas, or in his bed. He quickly sat up and covered his mouth when the sudden motion made him feel nauseous. He looked under the warm sheets that he recognized as John’s and found that he was nude except for his bee pants. He looked at the boy sleeping next to him and his eye widened.

John.

He stifled a gasp and silently got up. What happened last night? Sherlock thought back. He remembered when John gave him the beer. He’d finished that one and decided to drink another, but that’s where he blanked. 

He heard the shuffling of the sheets and he looked back to see a groggy John sitting up and becoming just as confused as Sherlock seemed to be. The blond boy looked at Sherlock, taking in the bee pants and confused expression. 

“Did we..?”

“I don’t know.”

 

Sherlock’s voice was quick and it sounded strangely young to him. Did he feel any different? Would he feel different if he did have sex with John? As his father had described sex, he would officially “feel like a man”. So, no. They couldn’t have. Sherlock still felt like himself. He didn’t feel like there was a need to prove himself a man or drink beer and not wear trousers while sitting on the couch, though only people on the telly did that. 

John stood and rubbed a hand down his face. He looked at a clock on his dresser. His eyes widened and he quickly pulled on trousers and an abandoned sweater from the floor. 

“This will have to wait, Sherlock. I’m late for my class.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled on his pajama pants and a shirt. He smoothed down his ginger curls and walked out of the bedroom. He looked around the sitting room. His mood could have been lifted if the meatheads had at least cleaned up their bloody beer cans and chips, but the entire room looked like the boys’ locker room from his old high school. Well, what he assumed the boys’ locker room looked like. He’d never had the guts to venture down there. His nose was far too sensitive for such.. _smells_. 

He carefully began picking up beer cans and chips crumbs until John ran out of his room looking as if nothing had happened. He quickly glanced at Sherlock before pulling on his puffer coat. 

“I can talk on the way to class if you want to come.”

Sherlock stuffed what he’d picked up into a trash bag and nodded, quickly running out of the dorm to catch up with John’s quick pace. He watched John’s jaw shift as he thought over the morning’s events. Sherlock found that when John seemed to have a troubling thought, he would grind his teeth just slightly.

“So, Sherlock, what are your...ideas?”

“I think you have Bruxism and you should wear a night guard to get rid of that-”

“About this morning, Sherlock!”

Sherlock felt his whole body stiffen at the voice change. John seemed angry, not...excited like Sherlock was. Sherlock had finally experienced a party and...sex. He was living the life! Why was John so uptight. 

Sherlock cleared his throat and began.

“I believe we should discuss our history and what we remember of the night. Um, we should discuss how we feel-”

“I’m not gay.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He never said John was gay, but he didn’t have to seem so hostile. Sherlock quickly resumed his pace and stared at the ground. 

“Well I am.”

That seemed to stop John. His muscles went stiff and he watched Sherlock with a sympathetic eye. He seemed to realize he’d hurt Sherlock’s feelings and he wanted to reach out and take his hand. To explain himself. He stopped and grabbed Sherlock’s hand.

“I-I didn’t mean that, Sherlock. No. I’m not gay. I’m bi. I’ve had women before, but I’ve been tested several times and I’ve not got any diseases. All of my girlfriends have been tested and they were all clean.”

Sherlock looked at John’s hand while it was holding his. John’s hand was warm and soft, but there was an edge to it from years of sports. They were strong but soft, much like the boy himself. 

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked up at John. 

“I haven’t had anyone.”

“Ever?”

“Never found the right person. I almost did with a boy once. Victor Trevor. He was my brother’s best friend in school and he’d developed a crush on me. He...wasn’t good and Mycroft had him sent away.”

John looked incredulous. 

“S-so, I’m your…”

His voice trailed off as he realized that he was Sherlock’s first.

“Yeah.”

John reaffirmed his grip on Sherlock’s hand and he raised it to his lips, gently kissing Sherlock’s knuckles before returning back to a slower walking pace, but still rushing to get to class. 

Sherlock felt his cheeks blush bright crimson as John held his hand and almost paraded around the fact that they were unofficially-officially together.

The walk was silent from then on until John reached the building. He walked with Sherlock to the door and he was about to go in, until he realized the door was locked. There was a paper on the door and John read it aloud. 

“Classes have been canceled today due to a disturbance on campus. We request all students go back to their dorms and stay there until given further notice.”

John looked at Sherlock, he’d wondered why the campus was so quiet, but he assumed that it was because everybody had gone to class. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he stared back at John like a deer caught in headlights. 

John led Sherlock back towards their dorm.

“What do you think it means, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head and squeezed John’s hand. 

“I don’t know, John, but I have a feeling it’s not good.”

The boys spent the next two hours cleaning up John’s dorm and officially getting Sherlock moved into John’s spare room. Sherlock put away more intimate items while John hung up shirts and put away trousers. 

They’d spoken to Sebastian about classes being canceled and he’d told them what happened. 

_“You haven’t heard?”_ He’d laughed at them before continuing. _“A kid was found dead at the fountain in the park. He’d been raped and strung up by strings attached to his muscles.”_

John was desperately trying to avoid the thought of the murder on his cozy little campus, but Sherlock was turning the idea over in his head. There were plenty of reasons to kill, but to string them up as a display? The murderer was proud of their work, or else they would have hidden the body in hopes that nobody would find it. 

Who could be so confident of themselves as to display a crime?

Sherlock hadn’t the faintest idea. He sat on his bed and looked over his stack of books that wouldn’t fit on the shelf. John hung up the last shirt and sat beside him.

“Why do you have so many button-ups if you don’t wear them?”

“Mycroft insists I wear them at least every once in awhile.”

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock sat staring at the books, his eyes were open and focused, but his mind was far, far away, turning over the ideas in his head, forming theories. John sat for several moments before nudging Sherlock with his foot. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he almost fell off the bed as he nearly jumped out of his skin. John’s eyes widened at Sherlock’s reactions and he burst into uncontrollable giggles. Sherlock reddened and quickly regained his composure.

“Yes?”

John settled down and looked at Sherlock’s books.

“What are we?”

“Homosapiens. Human beings. John, perhaps you shouldn’t be a doctor.”

John rolled his eyes and tried again. 

“No, Sherlock. What is our...relationship status?”

Sherlock stared at John for a few moments before looking away and muttering about the murder. 

“I assumed we were dating, but if that’s not what you want..”

John quickly turned Sherlock’s face to his and kissed him. Their teeth clashed together and both boys quickly pulled away, covering their mouths. 

“What was that for?”

John couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips. 

 

“You’re my boyfriend now. I had to kiss you.”

Sherlock glanced up at John and smirked. 

“I don’t think that’s a kiss, John. That’s an assault.” 

Sherlock stood and ran before John could get him. John quickly stood and ran after the smaller boy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff before the true action begins....

Sherlock woke up to crusted drool on his face and a painful tingling in his arm. John had allowed Sherlock to stay in his bed if Sherlock promised to cuddle. He was regretting that promise with every wave of pins and needles that ran through his arm. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on sleep, but the overwhelming pain from his arm was too much. He tried to pull his arm out from John’s body, but John wasn’t letting up.

“John.”

Sherlock’s voice was almost urgent. John was drooling onto his pillow and Sherlock was certain from his snoring that he wasn’t going to wake up soon. Sherlock twisted around in the bed, searching for a better angle to pull from, but with his arm stuck and useless he found he was useless. 

_“John.”_

John’s snoring faltered and he shifted his weight so that it rested on Sherlock’s arm, but it immediately went back to normal. Sherlock groaned loudly and squirmed, occasionally kicking John in the hopes of waking him up by “accident”. Sherlock managed to prop his foot onto John’s thigh and his hip and tugged on his arm. 

John grunted and rolled over, instantly releasing his arm. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he lost his balance and instantly flopped backward off the bed. He hit the floor head first and groaned as his head hit the hardwood floor beside John’s bed. 

John heard the thump of Sherlock’s head and opened his eyes. He stretched his arms and sat up, instantly looking around to find Sherlock. He leaned over the edge of the bed and smirked at Sherlock. 

“Morning, Sherly.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and glared up at the smiling boy. He almost forgot to breathe when he saw John’s morning beauty. His hair was messy and his eyes were still a little droopy from sleep. He rubbed his face and yawned. Sherlock quickly looked down. 

“Don’t call me Sherly.”

John smirked and stood. Sherlock looked back up at John as he stood and stretched in his red pants. Sherlock gasped softly. He suddenly felt self-conscious in his full flannel bee pajama set. 

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Sherlock growled and stood, brushing the dust and hair off his pajamas. He ruffled his ginger curls and stormed to the bathroom, rubbing cold water on his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

John followed him and brushed his teeth, sharing the mirror that Sherlock was using. Sherlock almost stopped in his place. How had they become so much like a couple in the past couple of days? He would never be able to figure out how, yet here he was, casually sharing a bathroom as if they’d done it for years. 

Then John started washing his face and Sherlock grabbed his own toothbrush, stealing away the tube of toothpaste and brushing his teeth. 

Sherlock rinsed his mouth out and walked to the kitchen, only pausing a moment to yawn. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. He grabbed their favorite mugs and put the tea bags and the perfect amount of sugar in each so John would be able to pour the water and go when he got out of the shower.

John walked out of his bedroom in denims and one of those horrid jumpers John loved so much. Sherlock smiled despite it. The jumper just represented John. John smiled and walked over to the kitchen. He poured the water into the mugs and stirred them up while Sherlock walked to the bathroom and got his shower. 

Sherlock loved getting a shower after John. The bathroom always smelled of fresh soap and aftershave, and John always made sure there was a warm towel on the rack. Sherlock stripped out of his pajamas and stood in the warm water of the shower. He carefully rubbed mint shampoo into his hair and rinsed it out. He lathered his hair with conditioner and started picking out the tangles that sleep gave him. Sherlock rinsed his hair and stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist.

He walked out of the bathroom and to the bedroom where his clothes are. He dressed himself in a simple bee sweater and black jeans. He dried his hair and walked into the living room. John was sitting on the couch, reading the school newspaper. 

“We don’t have to go to classes today.”

Sherlock grabbed his mug of tea and sat beside John, his wet hair dripping on his shoulders. 

“Why?”

“Carl Powers had a fit in the water and drowned at yesterday’s swim meeting.”

Sherlock frowned and looked at the paper. 

They were staring at the paper when they heard the knock at the door. John stood and walked to the door, opening it before he even asked who it was. Sherlock made a mental note to remind John of that later.

John frowned and stared at the child standing at the door. The boy looked to be around the age of twelve but his features showed signs of weariness and stress. So, a boy put through a lot of issues. Way too dark for his age. 

“Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock stepped up to the door and stared at the boy, other than his age, nothing else was obvious about his looks. 

“Who are you?”

John’s shoulders stiffened, as if he could tell Sherlock didn’t like the looks of this boy. 

The boy pulled out a gun and smiled. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he quickly pulled John back by his wrist. 

“Don’t be dull, Sherlock. If the boss wanted you dead, you’d be dead. He just wants you to know somethin’.”

“And what’s that?”

“He’s watching.”

The boy smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could he raised his gun and shot himself in the mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock watched as the crimson stain grew on the carpet and got darker as the boy’s eyes faded. That was his least favorite part. Something about watching eyes go from living to dead, just made him feel inhumane. He wasn’t shocked by murder anymore, and that’s what scared him the most. He knew he should be upset, but he couldn’t manage to feel anything other than fear for John. John who was standing beside him, gawking at the lifeless form. John who didn’t ask for any of this. John who doesn’t deserve this. John. 

John looked at Sherlock and was shocked by his detached expression. He knelt down and tried inspecting the boy even though he knew it was useless. The boy was dead. 

Sherlock stepped back into the dorm and walked to his room, pulling down his suitcase to pack. John followed him in and sat on his bed. 

“What do we do?”

“He wants me, not you. _We_ are not part of this, _I_ am.”

“Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock froze in his place and looked at John. Calm John. Frowning John. 

“You will never be an ‘I’ anymore. You are mine and I am yours, and together we are ‘we’. I’m not letting you do this alone, even if it kills me.”

Sherlock felt the warmth of his tears before he knew he was crying. He quickly turned away from John and grabbed several t-shirts. 

“What if it does?”

John stood and wrapped his arms gingerly around Sherlock’s waist. He rested his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder and kissed his neck lightly.

“Then I’ll never have to eat another bowl of those bloody Lucky Charms you ordered.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips. He leaned back against John and savoured the moment. He knew they wouldn’t have another one like it for a while. 

They stood there in each other’s arms, as if holding each other would stop their inevitable future. 

“Sherlock?”

“Yeah?”

“What do we do about the boy? I mean, we can’t just leave him there.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he pulled away from John’s embrace. He stormed out of the room and slammed the door to the bedroom behind him. John stared at the door in shock, unaware of how he could have upset Sherlock with the question.

“Mycroft!”

John quickly ran after Sherlock when he heard the name he’d only heard Sherlock say once or twice, but always in hatred or annoyance. A plump man sat on their couch, umbrella in one hand and phone in the other. A woman stood by the door, her eyes directly on her phone, not even looking up when Sherlock yelled. 

Sherlock stood in front of the man and John walked over to stand beside him. He found himself searching for a better way to make himself seen more threatening, like he was trying to scare away a bear. John held his hands behind his back and stood straighter, making himself seem as tall as he could, even then he was still a good three inches shorter than Sherlock. 

The man looked at John, his blue eyes were not peircing. They didn’t look like anything from a book, or like Sherlock’s. They weren’t lovely. They were threatening, at most. His eyes seemed to hold a higher knowledge and understanding of everything around him. John noticed a shift in his eyes when he looked at Sherlock, though. His eyes became just a touch less dark and his brow seemed to crease with worry, but only for a second before his expression became one of mocking. He smiled coldly at Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock glared at his brother. He’d had theories that Mycroft was involved, but this break-in, this intrusion proved it. 

“What do you want?”

The man feigned a shocked look and raised one eyebrow at Sherlock. 

“Don’t be rude, Sherlock. You know what Mummy would think. Introduce me to your… _pal_.”

Sherlock’s eyes seemed to hold a storm now, and he narrowed them when Mycroft spoke of mummy. 

“Mycroft, this is John, but you already know that. Tell me, where are the cameras? Where do I need to be looking?”

“Dust, Sherlock. Check the dust.”

John frowned and looked at the woman. She had brown hair that cascaded down around her shoulders, and she wore a pinstriped blazer with black trousers that accented her curves. He looked back at Sherlock. 

“Cameras.”

“Yes, John. My brother has been spying on us.”

“Isn’t that against the law, or something?”

“Perks of being the British government, I suppose.”

Mycroft scowled. 

“I have a minor position-’

Sherlock walked to the window and picked up his violin.

“Sherlock, listen to me.”

Sherlock turned from the room and placed the violin on his shoulder.

“Nope. It only encourages you.”

Sherlock slowly started practicing his scales. The sound was slow and smooth. 

John walked to the door and opened it. No blood. No body. No sign of a suicide on their doormat.

“I hope you like it. We had the body taken away for identification, and the carpet steam cleaned.”

The woman didn’t look up from her phone the entire time she spoke, but her mouth quirked up after she spoke, like she’d heard an unknown joke.

“You spy on us?”

“Of course he does, but this time that wasn’t the complete case. NO. This time Mycroft _knew_ this would happen. It’s why he sent me here.”

Mycroft stood and slipped his phone into his pocket. 

“He knew a boy would shoot his bloody brains out on our fucking doormat?”

Sherlock walked over and stood in front of Mycroft. 

“You sent me here to catch your murderer for you?”

Mycroft simply shrugged.

“Keeps you from your other forms of...entertainment.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

Mycroft walked to the door, but paused just before he walked out.

“Mother sends her love.”

Sherlock walked over to his chair and crouched in the seat. 

“Goodbye, Mycroft. Do us a favor and never come back.”

Mycroft walked out of the dorm and the woman followed him, closing the door behind herself.

“That was pleasant.”

John smirked at Sherlock and sat on the arm of the couch. 

“I can’t wait to experience the Christmas dinners.”

Sherlock giggled and grabbed his coat from the coat rack, pulling it out and walking to the door.

“Come on, John.”

Sherlock stood and walked over to the door, pulling on his own coat.

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner.”

Sherlock took John’s hand and led him out of the dorm, toward the campus cafeteria.


	7. Chapter 7

His long, pale fingers reached out into the dead air and pulled something out of nothing. They always did. They would run across the smooth wood of the violin as if the littlest push could make the whole instrument collapse in on itself. He ran his fingers over the strings before raising the bow and letting the first note fall from the air. The note was low and long, warming up the instrument and his fingers before he began the real playing. He heard the scale soft, slow, and achingly beautiful. 

John recognized the C major scale being played. The most common scale. He felt a small sense of pride from remembering that from so many years ago when he played clarinet in school. C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C. 

The boy always practised at this hour. John knew that because he had watched the boy for a while. He hadn’t meant to, of course. It just sort of...happened. John had been walking home from classes one day to hear the most alluring sounds coming from around the corner. He had turned that corner to see if there was a street musician, but there was nothing more than the usual buzz of college kids searching for the coolest party, except...the sound. The sound was still there, but it was underneath the buzz. Looking around, John had spotted the window where the sound was coming from, but there was no person standing by it. 

After that night, John had come back every night, same time, same place, to hear him play.

Tonight the boy played as if it was his last night playing. He played angrily, like he was angry at the world for some unknown crime it had committed against him. He played sadly, like he'd lost someone he held most dear, but would never hold again. He played the minor chords softer chords softer and the major chords louder so that when they met it would feel like a release. He played with emotion. Much more emotion than he'd seen the boy ever play with before. 

Then it stopped. The playing just stopped, leaving John breathless and wanting more. Then a boy stepped up to the window. John’s eyes widened in recognition before he saw the taller boy walk up behind his Sherlock and wrap his arms around Sherlock from behind, correcting his posture. John felt like a knife had penetrated his heart. John picked up his bags and stood from the bench, throwing onto his shoulder and discreetly walking away. 

 

He wanted to scream, he wanted shout. Sherlock, his Sherlock, was cheating on him. With whom? His violin teacher? No. The boy was too young to be the teacher. John stormed to his dorm and put on the kettle. He’d wait. Sherlock would come home and he would tell John everything. How it was just a friend reminding him of his posture. 

He walked to his room and stopped in his tracks. The floor was covered in clothes and the bed was dismantled. A boy with pale skin and dark hair lay gasping and moaning in it. His moans were dark and filthy and John found himself blushing and having difficulty looking away. 

The boy opened his eyes to reveal dark chocolate eyes filled with lust, his pupils were blown wide and almost covering the entire eye. The boy smirked at John and lifted up the sheets to speak to the person under. 

“Shh, Tiger. Our guest has arrived.”

_Tiger?_

A blond head popped out of the covers and looked at John. John recognized him as Sebastian Moran, Sherlock’s old dormmate. He flashed a killer grin at John and John wasn’t sure if it was his charm or his murderous eyes that he needed to be afraid of. 

“Don’t call me Tiger in front of him.”

The dark haired boy stood, obviously not ashamed his body, and walked over to his clothes, piled neatly. He pulled on a pair of pants and trousers before smoothing back his hair and looking at John. 

“What are you afraid of, _Sebby_? Not like he’ll be around long enough to spread it.”

The boy pulled on his shirt and tucked it in, buttoning it all the way before slipping a red tie around his neck. The blond stood and not too carefully pulled on his own clothes, cursing under his breath. 

“Would you like it if I told him your name was-”

The boy threw a pillow at Sebastian, but Sebastian blocked and finished his comment. 

“Jimmy.”

The boy- _Jimmy_ -cleared his throat and popped his neck before continuing. 

“Call me Jimmy again and I’ll make sure you never speak again. I’m Moriarty.”

John stared in confusion, wondering why these two boys chose his dorm out of all the dorms to hook up in.

“Oh, sorry, Johnny-Boy. I haven’t properly introduced myself or your situation. Though I was hoping you’d be home later.” John noticed he had an Irish accent, and his complexion suggested Irish. “I’m Jim Moriarty. You’re being kidnapped so I can meet that handsome dormmate of yours. I’ve heard from the girls around campus that he is quite the looker. I forgot to mention how lovely this dorm is. It’s almost as if you’re living together for real. Although I do find that bag of Lucky Charms to be rather offensive. I’m Irish and I’m not a leprechaun. Fucking Americans. All they care about is stereotypes.”

John stared in amazement as this so called kidnapper had conversation with himself. He reached in his back pocket and wrapped his fingers around a pocket knife. 

Jim turned to the blond and waved his hand dismissively in John’s direction. Sebastian came over and grabbed John’s wrists, tying them together before slamming something hard into the back of his head. John’s fingers let go of his pocket knife as he felt his knees collapse under him and his vision reduce to spinning stars.

\---

Sherlock set his violin down and pushed the boy away. He was taller than Sherlock and had dark brown hair that was slightly darker than Sherlock’s ginger curls. He was Sherlock’s only friend when he was a child, Victor Trevor. 

Victor frowned and tried to take Sherlock’s hand, pulling him close against his chest. Sherlock pulled his hand away and pushed the boy away. 

“Sherlock, I came back for you, just for you.”

“I never asked you to. I’m happy here. I’ve got murders, John, and my violin.”

Victor tilted his head to the side and did the quirky little smile that Sherlock used to fall for every time. He raised his eyebrows and watched Sherlock. 

“John?”

Sherlock forced himself to ignore his old love for Victor rising in his chest, and crossed his arms over his chest, as if adding an extra barricade so nothing Victor did could penetrate his heart. 

“My boyfriend.”

“Your...You have a boyfriend?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Sherlock picked up his violin and walked out of the practice room. Victor picked up his bag and followed Sherlock.

“That’s great!”

“Are you still using?”

Victor paled slightly and nodded after thinking for a brief second.

“What? What are you using?”

“Ketamine.”

“I thought you were into cocaine.”

“Yes, but everything was going to fast, I had to slow things down.”

“So you decided to numb your body?”

“My body’s not important when I use it.”

“How do you use it?”

“My personal favorite form is injection, but I should start snorting it. My veins are getting blistered.”

Sherlock glared at him and walked to his dorm.

“How did you even convince Mycroft to let you come here?”

“I don’t need his permission.”

“Everybody needs his permission.”

“He told me not to say.”

“Of course he did.”

Sherlock stopped in the door to his dorm and stared at the door lock.

“What is it?”

“Someone broke in.”

Sherlock stormed into the dorm and looked around everything was in perfect condition. He walked to John’s bedroom and pushed the door open to reveal a made bed and clean floors. He walked to the kitchen and found nothing out of place, except...Except that the bag of Lucky Charms had been shot several times. Sherlock walked over and knelt in front of the bag. He reached into the one of the holes and pulled out a note.

“What does it say?”

He read it to himself and his eyes widened. He stood and abandoned his bags, grabbing his coat and gun before running out of the dorm.

“John’s been kidnapped!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was short because Molly.

Sherlock ran down the carpeted hall to the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall. He heard the soft thud of Victor’s footsteps behind him as he opened the steel door and began down the cold stairwell, until he felt a piercing pain in his neck. Sherlock gasped softly and his hand flew up to his neck to feel the syringe in his neck. He turned to look at his attacker as he pulled the syringe out. Victor looked like he had pain in his eyes, but also a sense of pride. 

“I told you that I didn’t ask Mycroft for permission.”

Sherlock’s vision began to blur and he felt his muscles contract and relax, sweat began to form on his forehead, and he began shivering.

“W-what is it? What did you d-do to me?”

He threw his arm out and grabbed the rail of the stairs as tightly as he could, but he couldn’t seem to get his fingers to wrap around it. He slipped down and fell against the stairs. Victor leaned down and grabbed Sherlock around the waist, lifting him into a more dignifying against the wall. 

“How long has it been, Sherlock? We used to take these doses all the time.”

Sherlock looked up at Victor as best he could and tried to spit, but the spittle only ran down his chin and showed Victor how much he was in control. Victor snickered and took Sherlock’s gun. 

“Goodnight, My Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s vision faded and his eyes drifted closed. He felt the high start to get to him and a weak smile passed across his lips.

_Sherlock waited outside his parent’s house, hiding by the bushes where he knew Victor would find him. He held his suitcase handle in one hand and his coat in the other. This was the night, the night that Victor had promised to take him away. To take him away from his disapproving family and his brother. To begin a new life together. He’d been waiting for an hour already and his hope was waning as each minute drew to an end. He sat down in the dirt and put his head in his hands.  
He’d passed out and woken up to the sun rising in the horizon and the birds chirping. Victor had never shown up._

_Sherlock felt the tears misting his eyes and he quickly shut them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to stop the tears from falling. He’d run to his brother after that, wishing that Mycroft could tell him he was stupid for believing Victor ever loved him, but he hadn’t. Mycroft called the police and had Victor thrown in jail for dealing drugs and giving to Sherlock._

_It was the first and only time that Mycroft had shown brotherly compassion._

Sherlock felt a small hand shaking his shoulder and he slowly managed to blink his eyes open. The girl in front of him was one of the smallest he’d ever seen. She had thin, long, brown hair pulled tightly into a high ponytail. Her eyes were a deep brown, the shade of dirt. She frowned and held a light up to his eyes. He flinched away and groaned softly. 

“You are so stoned right now. Why here? In the stairwell.”

Sherlock’s head pulsed and he put his head into his hand. So Trevor had drugged him enough to make him pass out, but the question remains, for how long? He reached up and shakily grabbed the girl’s wrist, turning her wrist so he could see the time projected on her digital watch. 

_Two hours._

Two hours is everything. Two hours is the difference between life and death. Two hours is long enough for them to cut John open and bleed him dry. 

He tried to stand, but the girl quickly forced him to sit back down. 

“No, no, no. You’re not quite ready for that yet.”

“What..? What’s your name?”

“Molly.”

“Well, Molly, I’m sending you on the mission of your life.”

She giggled and raised her eyebrows. Sherlock smiled goofily and watched her. 

She was actually quite cute once he looked at her, or that could just be the drugs. Nah. She was cute. 

“I’m serious. Miss Molly…”

“Hooper.”

“Miss Molly Hooper, I need you to save my boyfriend from crazed psychopaths.”


	9. Chapter 9

Molly ran across the campus, the cold wind stinging her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes. Her breath came in huffs and her muscles burned from the unexpected exercise. 

Who was that boy? What happened to him? Why did he ask her? Of all the people he could have asked, he asked her. _Her._ She was tiny and mousy, nobody ever expected that she could fight. But now, now she was Miss Molly Hooper, armed with a pocket knife and her bare hands. 

Her thoughts bounced around her head and fueled her need to find John. John Watson. How could he have been in danger? He was the newest player for the rugby team. Everyone was raving about how he would bring us our winning streak. Who would hurt him? 

Molly saw the field house and forced herself to pump her arms and legs faster. She ran to the door and slammed it open, unfolding the pocket knife and aiming it viciously at anyone daring to come near her. 

Then she smelled it.

The stench brought tears to her eyes and almost caused her to gag on her every breath. She pulled her shirt up over her nose and silently cursed. This is why she didn’t like boys. Well, one reason. 

“I almost had the same reaction.”

Molly looked around the room full of sweat and uniforms and saw them. A short pale boy with dark, black hair standing over a blond boy, tied down to the exercise machine. The blond she recognized as John Watson, but she didn’t recognize the dark-haired one. 

“Why here?”

Molly heard herself present the question before it went through her mind. Her eyes widened slightly and she held the pocket knife tighter.

“I thought Johnny’s friends could learn something from it.”

John looked up and Molly finally got a good look at his face and she could barely silence a gasp. 

_John Watson._

She knew the name sounded familiar, but she didn’t understand why. Now she remembered. John Watson. The same John Watson that had found her curled up on a campus bench in the rain. The same John Watson that had carried her to a cafe and fed her when no one else would. The same John Watson that had saved her life. 

Molly watched his crisp green eyes and she was almost transported back to the night she met him. 

_She held her coat around herself as the rain pelted down on her. She had to choose between a blanket or a pillow and she had chosen the blanket. She could deal with a cramped neck but a cold was too much._

_Her roommate had kicked her out of the dorm so she could spend the night with her boyfriend and Molly didn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s not like she was graced with social manners like her mother. No. Molly had been given social anxiety from her father and it had plagued her ever since she came here._

_She thought it would be simpler to come to a smaller college and earn her degree but she hadn’t realized that the people here would be so...attached to one another. She doubted that there was any guy her roommate didn’t have relations with._

_This wasn’t the first night her roommate had kicked her out, but usually she would kind enough to offer money for a movie or dinner. But not tonight. Tonight Molly was stranded on campus, without a bed or even a warm place to curl up._

_Then she saw him. John Watson. He was walking around by himself. He wore an army green raincoat and grey rain boots. He almost walked right past her until he turned and watched her. She thought at first he would laugh like the other kids had, but he soon heard their snickers and saw Molly’s face redden, so he walked over and sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist protectively._

_“You waited for me.”_

_He was speaking for other people, she knew it, but she curled up against his side and warmed up as much as she could. He turned his head and looked at her with the softest green eyes she could have ever seen. He spoke softly to her, asking about her living situation and if she needed a place to stay._

_He’d bought her dinner and let her sleep on his couch that night. She wanted to thank him the next morning but he was gone for classes before she woke._

“John Watson.”

The dark-haired boy looked over at her and smoothed his hair back. 

“You know each other?”

Molly felt a presence behind her and she almost turned to look until she felt cool tip of a knife barely sliding across the skin of her neck. She carefully shook her head and dropped her pocket knife, knowing she had lost any way out. 

She looked at John and John’s eyes darkened when he saw who was behind her. He pulled at his restraints and tried to speak through the gag in his mouth. 

The dark-haired boy slammed his gun against the side of John’s head and walked over to Molly, stroking her cheek with the tip of his bloody gun. 

“Moriarty.”

Molly glared at him used the guy behind her for support. She kicked her legs out and kicked the dark-haired boy in the groin. Moriarty cried out and dropped his gun. She ducked out of the grip of the boy behind her and picked up the gun, aiming at Moriarty. 

The boy that had been holding her ran at her and she pulled the trigger twice. She felt two jolts go through her entire body and watched as the boy crumpled to the floor, blood oozing from his chest wounds. His blond hair covered his dead eyes and for a moment Molly was glad she couldn't see them. 

She watched as the Moriarty boy gathered himself up and looked at her. She took aim.

“Last words?”

Moriarty looked at the crumpled form on the ground and closed his eyes. 

“I love you, Tiger.”

She pulled the trigger and shot the boy in the head. 

She looked at the floor and repeated his last words to herself. 

_I love you, Tiger._


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock watched the boy lying next to him. He had bandages on his head and the nurse had thoroughly checked him for a concussion, and then Sherlock had. He’d been told what had happened. Molly had busted in and taken both the boys down, but before she could John had been hit with a gun so he would shut up. 

Someone had found Sherlock and reported it to the nurse because he woke up in the nurse’s office on a cot. She had taken care of him and sent some police officers out to check on John. She’d given Sherlock something to help him rest and when Sherlock had woken again he found John beside him and Molly sitting in a chair watching them. 

She’d smiled warmly at him although he could tell there some hidden emotion under the surface that he couldn’t see, but after hearing the story he understood. She had killed two living human beings and that was getting to her. He had convinced her to go to her dorm and get some rest. 

And here he was. 

John started to shift and he slowly blinked open his eyes and looked at Sherlock. His eyes were a deep blue-green and he had eye crust all around his eyes, but Sherlock still loved his sleepy John anyways because as soon as John realized who Sherlock was his eyes softened and he settled into his warm embrace. John gently kissed Sherlock’s neck and rested his forehead on the pale skin. 

“What ‘appened?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile as John spoke against hsi neck. He closed his eyes buried his face in John’s hair. 

“I was drugged and you were almost killed.”

John listened to Sherlock’s voice and was brought back to the boy he saw Sherlock with when he was practicing his violin playing. He opened his eyes and pulled away, instantly shutting his eyes because the office was so bright. 

“Who-”

Sherlock gently pulled John closer and kissed his jaw. 

“Victor Trevor. Childhood friend. Druggie. Not my boyfriend. You’re my boyfriend. He’s been sent away. Out of the country. Permanent exile.”

John giggled and looked up at Sherlock.

“Permanent exile?”

“He was getting on my nerves. I had him sent away.”

“You mean your brother did?”

“Shut up.”

Sherlock looked up when the nurse walked in. She had curly brown hair and welcoming smile, but a very stern attitude. 

“Is he up?”

John picked his head up and looked at the nurse. He smiled softly and carefully sat up. 

“Yeah.”

She looked at John and smiled. Sherlock sat up and wrapped and arm around John’s waist possessively. 

“When can we leave?”

“When you feel well enough.”

Sherlock kissed John’s cheek and stood.

“We feel good.”

John nodded and signed a paper saying that he could leave and he led Sherlock out. Sherlock’s fingers held on to his jumper as if he had to hold John to make him stay.  
“Hungry?”

Sherlock’s stomach rumbled as if to answer the question. Sherlock reddened and nodded. John smirked and pressed the button for the elevator. 

“I think we have some Lucky Charms.”

“John, I swear I will send you away to Russia if I have to eat another damned bowl of Lucky Charms.”

John giggled and Sherlock tried to remember that sound. 

“Fine. I’ll cook.”

“John?”

John lead Sherlock into the elevator and pressed their floor level button. 

“Mm?”

“You’ve never knowingly had sex with me.”

John’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red and he pulled Sherlock against his chest. He kissed his ear and down his neck, speaking softly as he did so.

“Maybe we should fix that.”


End file.
